a drunken ramble

stop for a second, think, did you fuck up,

then, in the infinitely small moment of that second,

between us, between the lines, in the grey-matter

that hung for days, weeks and months, when we

spoke of lunch, dinner, but never what we needed

to speak the most, those things that burnt holes

in our pockets, our minds. did you fuck up,

then, when you needed to say what you

dare not think, or was it i, in my silence,

who broke the fragile peace that we had

come to know as love?

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